How Many Words Do I Own?
Language, Time, and the Art of Being Present
According to the Common European Framework, an average learner of English as a second language knows roughly between 4,000 and 7,000 individual words. An advanced learner may reach 10,000 to 15,000. Native speakers, meanwhile, are said to possess a vocabulary of around 20,000 to 25,000 words — but this figure conceals an important distinction: the difference between active and passive vocabulary.
Active vocabulary — the words we regularly use — typically covers only 5,000 to 10,000 words for the average native speaker. Passive (or receptive) vocabulary, the words we understand but do not necessarily use, can vary widely depending on education, reading habits, and profession, ranging somewhere between 20,000 and 40,000 words.
And then comes the real twist.
According to the Cambridge Advanced Learner’s Dictionary, there are more than 140,000 words in the English language.
Which inevitably makes me wonder.
How many words do I actually know?
How many words do I truly own?
Which words shape my reality, my identity, my way of seeing the world?
And what about all the other words — the ones I recognise but never use, the ones I have never encountered, the ones that belong to other lives, other professions, other inner worlds? Who owns those? Who is responsible for them? And can I ever really make them all mine?
I am fairly certain that many of the words I use today were not part of my vocabulary ten years ago — probably not even five. Language grows with us. It adapts to the lives we live, the experiences we gather, the people we meet. So I cannot help but ask: which words will I use in the future to talk about myself, my life, my dreams, my past? Who will I be, linguistically speaking?
This curiosity is precisely why I have always loved learning — and teaching — languages. Words are not merely tools; they are worlds. They express states of mind, give meaning to what we perceive, and connect us to others. Through words, we bridge our inner experience with shared reality.
And here is something I find endlessly fascinating — and yes, I say this with a touch of irony, considering I have spent more than ten years stressing my students about verb forms, tenses, and irregular verbs.
When we speak, our anchor point is almost always now.
The vast majority of interpersonal communication takes place in the present tense. We move into the past or future only when there is a reason — to tell a story, explain something, or share a hope or concern. Psychologically, this makes perfect sense. Humans respond to current stimuli, express current thoughts, negotiate current actions, and exchange current information. Language mirrors that reality. We move and engage in the present.
And yet, our minds are time travellers. Rarely fully present, they replay old stories or leap anxiously into imagined futures.
Speech, however, is social. It pulls us back into the present moment. We share what we feel now, what we need now, what matters now. Thankfully, most of us do not share every thought that crosses our mind — conversations would be almost impossible to follow if we did.
Dialogue anchors us. Exchange brings us into the present moment. Most of our interactions live there, with occasional references to the past or future — always with a purpose.
Isn’t it fascinating that our inner reality (the mind) and our outer reality (social interaction) operate on entirely different planes?
To communicate coherently, we need connection. We need shared presence, a common moment. If we followed our “monkey minds”, where thoughts appear and disappear without warning, genuine communication would be nearly impossible. Language requires grounding. It asks us to meet one another where we are.
The mind’s relationship with time does not mirror language’s relationship with tense — and, frankly, thank goodness for that.
And yet, despite the fact that everyday communication is firmly rooted in the present moment, many foreign language classrooms devote a surprising amount of time to gap-fill exercises that require learners to choose between forms such as the past simple and the present perfect. This creates a striking contradiction between how language is naturally used and how it is often taught.
These exercises isolate grammar from meaning, turning communication into a puzzle rather than a living tool. Learners may become skilled at identifying the “correct” form on a worksheet, yet struggle to speak fluidly in real-life interactions. The problem is not a lack of intelligence or effort — it is focus. Such tasks encourage students to think about grammar instead of thinking through language.
By contrast, present-tense, meaningful communication aligns far more closely with how the brain processes language in real time and how humans actually interact. When learners connect new words and structures to their immediate experience — what they are doing, feeling, sensing, or wanting — language becomes embodied, usable, and alive.
At Happy Heart Communication, my core belief is simple: to connect, we need presence. We need awareness, authenticity, and language that reflects lived experience rather than abstract rules. Grammar has its place, but it should serve communication — not replace it.
In closing, the realisation that everyday communication unfolds in the present moment powerfully supports the philosophy behind Happy Heart Communication. Rather than reducing language learning to worksheets and tense debates, this approach invites learners to ground themselves in what matters now: their feelings, their experience, their voice.
By aligning language practice with presence, embodied awareness, and genuine dialogue, learners move from thinking about language to actually living it. In doing so, language learning regains its human dimension — where we slow down, listen deeply, and express what is real. And from that place, language becomes not only a means of communication, but a pathway to connection, self-expression, and heartfelt understanding.
